


I'll give you all, just take it from me

by motionalocean



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Consensual Somnophilia, Enthusiastic Consent, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motionalocean/pseuds/motionalocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could see himself; facedown, one arm flung wide and connected to the device. Eames over him, around him, <i>in</i> him, just... taking. Taking his pleasure in Arthur.</p><p>"Eames," he said. "I think we need to test the PASIV."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> Somnophilia with enthusiastic consent.
> 
> Cleaned up from the kinkmeme.

Arthur woke to the feeling of Eames’ hand running along his chest and an erection jutting against the small of his back. He smiled in appreciation, running his own hand down over Eames’ thigh. His upper leg lifted almost of its own accord, and Eames’ hairy knee shoved in between his own.

“Morning, love,” Eames said, lips right by his ear. The slight breath stirred the hair there, eliciting a shiver that turned into a full-body stretch. As he settled back against Eames’ chest, the cock at his back slid briefly along his crack. He pushed back into it, causing Eames to pull him closer by the one arm still curled around his torso, and push his hips up even closer against his ass.

“Mm,” Arthur agreed. He craned his neck around, and Eames obliged him with a kiss, starting off quick and chaste but soon becoming more open and wet.

“You know what would be awesome?” Arthur said when his neck protested the angle too much and he snuggled down again into his pillow. Eames ran his mouth along his neck, licking and nuzzling and leaving open-mouthed kisses all along his nape and shoulder.

“A quickie before breakfast?” Eames’ hand slipped downward, along Arthur’s flat stomach, over the jutting of his pelvic bone to play with the dark curls at the base of his dick. “Morning delight? Breakfast in bed and then a late brunch?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to that.” He rocked backwards, giving the official go-ahead. The hand tickling his pubes became a bit more goal-oriented then, making its way to his firming cock and giving it a gentle stroke. “But I meant more in the abstract.”

“Tell us then, love. Whatever your tarty little heart desires, in an abstract fashion.”

The hardness resting just above Arthur’s ass was impossible to ignore. He thought of how Eames had woken up already hot for him, and how easy it would have been for him to rub one out between his cheeks or thighs before Arthur even woke up. He imagined the hands that enveloped him manipulating his limp body, arranging it for the sole purpose of pleasure.

“I was thinking,” he started, but his voice had gone deep and gravelly. He cleared his throat and gasped a little when Eames rubbed at his head, playing with the slit. “I can’t believe how much you want me, all the time.” In the shower, in the car, walking down the street, lounging on the couch, bending over to pick up a pencil from the floor. Shooting a projection in the head, tying up a mark. Inserting his needle before a dream. The man was practically insatiable, and Arthur hardly knew what would set him off. “And I really like sex with you. Like, really like, oh god yes like that.” He faded off a bit when Eames licked his own hand and brought the moisture into play against the hot skin of his erection.

“And?”

“ _And_ ,” Arthur panted. “I was wondering what it would be like to, well, wake up to this, but, a bit further along.”

Eames shifted his body so that his cock now pushed up along Arthur’s crack with every roll of his hips. Arthur arched backwards, relishing in the feel of it along his skin. He breathed out little gasps every time it bumped the very base of his tailbone, a spot that had always been particularly sensitive. It was somewhere between a tickle and an itch, with a heat that traveled down and seemed to pull at the skin behind his balls.

“Something like this?” Eames pulled back, and the next Arthur felt it was nudging under his ass. He leaned forward a bit, and the length slid right between his thighs. Eames’ knee slid out from between his own, and Arthur clamped down hard. “Oh, that’s heaven, darling.”

“More,” Arthur said. Eames’ hand left his cock then, settling instead on his thigh, which he pulled and flexed in order to get the best friction.

“More?” he asked. “What do you mean, Arthur?” He leaned close again, tickling the hair around Arthur’s ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Eames’ hips stuttered, two rapid thrusts that left slickness between Arthur’s thighs before he calmed them back to their slow, leisurely roll. A thumb parted Arthur’s cheeks and he pushed back against the pressure against his entrance.

“You know I could never resist –”

“When I’m asleep,” Arthur finished in a rush.

\--

Eames was enthusiastic about the idea, if the way he rolled Arthur onto his belly and came between his thighs a moment later was any indication. Arthur lost himself as well, feeling Eames’ weight on top of him, pushing him down into the mattress and rutting hard instead of tenderly like he had before. They came one after another, shuddering, breathing hard but exhilarated.

“Did you mean that?” Eames asked afterward, as they lay side-by-side and face-down on the soiled bedding. One of his legs was still draped over Arthur’s, and he was doodling on Arthur’s back with a finger. “More than hypothetically.”

Arthur tried not to blush, and was pretty sure he failed. Perhaps he could explain it away as a post-orgasm glow. But although his body seemed to think it should be ashamed, his mind didn’t.

“Yes.”

“You want me to have sex with you while you’re sleeping.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Full penetration?”

“ _Yes_ , Eames.”

Eames’ hand settled on the small of his back, a soothing pressure. “No need to get huffy. I’m not objecting in any way, I just want to know we’re on the same page.”

They were both silent for a moment, then the hand on his back started wandering again. “Have you done it before?”

“No.” Arthur felt his face warming again, though it was ridiculous to be embarrassed _now_. He turned his head, looking into Eames’ eyes as he said, “I’ve never trusted anyone enough.”

It’s a big deal; he knew that Eames would appreciate just how much that actually meant. In their line of work trust was never something to be taken for granted or given lightly. Trusting Eames at his back with a weapon had become easier over the years, and letting anyone other than Eames monitor him while he was under was, at best, a calculated and unfortunately necessary risk. Sleeping in the same bed as Eames had started out as a post-sex activity and somehow changed to an anticipated indulgence between jobs. Coming home to someone that he could relax around wasn’t something he had expected to have, ever.

Eames rewarded his sentiment with a chaste kiss. “What about it appeals to you?” he asked.

Arthur wasn’t sure how to answer. Trust was high on the list, as a sort of gift that he could give Eames. The vulnerability and risk brought a rush of excitement whenever he thought about it. There was something exhilarating about letting go, about falling and knowing that Eames would catch him, would look after him. He’d felt it before sometimes, when Eames stayed topside to monitor the PASIV and Arthur met his eyes just before he went under. That feeling that anything could happen, but it would be okay.

Sex in dangerous situations wasn’t exactly new to him, or even to him and Eames. But this – this _wouldn’t_ be dangerous. That was the whole point. He could relax. Eames constantly pestered him about being too uptight, often jokingly, but it was true. The thing was, there weren’t many occasions when Arthur let himself relax. And the idea of Eames’ hands on him, completely in control and free to visit his need on Arthur’s willing and pliant body… well. It was nice to be nothing more than an object of lust, sometimes.

He tried to articulate these thoughts, but wasn’t sure if the complete message got across. Eames listened attentively, head cocked to the side, eyes bright. He nodded at the word “trust” and his eyes went bright with lust when Arthur fumbled through wanting to experience his undivided attentions.

“You won’t experience it, though,” he pointed out, when Arthur finally quieted. “You’ll be asleep.”

“True. But I’ll know.” Arthur smiled, predatory and dreamy all at once, and leaned in for another kiss.

“Then we’ll try it,” Eames promised, and got up to start the day.


	2. Experimentation

The issue, they shortly discovered, was that Arthur could tell himself to relax, could tell his body that he trusted Eames and that whatever he did was okay, but it was another thing entirely for his body to believe it. Just a few purposeful touches from Eames were enough to wake him. Just strokes, even. Down his back, along his ass. Turning him over wasn’t a problem, they were both used to being shoved in their sleep as a response to snoring. But that first wet touch of a lubed-up finger to his entrance always made Arthur jerk awake.

It wasn’t a problem, exactly. He loved that Eames was trying, that Eames wanted it as much as he did. And the aftermath of him waking up usually resulted in some lazy and mutually-beneficial orgasms, even if Arthur was still sleep-foggy and neither of them were quite getting what they wanted.

But Arthur was annoyed at himself. The failures felt like reneging on a deal, like he couldn’t keep up his side of the bargain. Eames would never accept an apology, though, so instead he put more time to solving their dilemma.

They discovered that Arthur was the most relaxed after he had come, ideally multiple times. There were logistic issues with that, but as long as they had a few hours to play with, it wasn’t a problem. Lube could be warmed to body temperature, and Arthur could be prepped beforehand. But nothing stopped him from waking at the initial press into his entrance.

That led to several days of Arthur being very sexually satisfied but somewhat sleep-deprived, to the point where he didn’t care about the sex, he just wanted a goddamn REM cycle. Eames, for his part, was unsatisfied and frustrated for the whole thing because he knew if he came he’d simply pass out next to Arthur, and then they’d be back at square one.

It was a vicious cycle, one Arthur eventually put a stop to by ambushing Eames with a good-morning blowjob followed by a well-deserved nap.

\--

“What about the PASIV?” Eames asked one afternoon, sitting in Arthur’s apartment in rainy New York.

“What about it?” Arthur looked up from his book. He had been enjoying the atmosphere of calm that had settled over them, shrouded from the world by sheets of rain. They’d gotten home two days ago from a job that went longer than expected, and it was nice to just _be_. Obviously, Eames had other things on his mind. 

“We still have some formula, yes?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, drawing it out. “I need it for testing. Which you know, because you’re the one who watches while I’m…” he stopped, seeing where Eames was likely going with this. “Eames, no.”

“What?” His face was perfectly innocent, as only a thief’s or a small child’s could be. He pushed his glasses up his nose and went back to the newspaper. “I just wanted to make sure you were prepared, that’s all.”

Arthur lowered his book and looked firmly towards where Eames sat hidden by folds of newsprint. “I’m always _prepared_.”

“Well then, there shouldn’t be a problem, now should there?”

God, but he could be exasperating, “Eames, I’m not going to…” Have sex in a dream? Let Eames have sex while he’s in a dream? He swallowed, feeling warm. “We use that for work!”

A fond smile crossed Eames face as he lowered the paper a few inches. “Come now, we’ve both used it for more than work.”

It was true, in a sense. They had spent hours walking through dreamscapes before, back when the time they could see each other was short. Practically all of their... dates, for lack of a better term – the meaningful ones, where they were themselves and not just the people they had to be for work – had been in dreams, their bodies lying together in hotel rooms between jobs, sharing hours that existed only in their minds.

For a while, Arthur had pretended they did it to gain experience. It was good practice, manipulating the dreamscape without danger or time constraints. But that justification only went so far. Work had nothing to do with the hours spent lying on the grassy hillside of a mountain too tall to see the peak of, or climbing trees to a rustic treehouse with more amenities than a palace. It had nothing to do with long discussions of philosophy (Eames’ forte) and art (also Eames’ forte) and family (of which Arthur had a lot to say) and whether dandelions had a better-evolved reproductive strategy than rabbits (Eames was in favor of the rabbits). And the reason Arthur had shared any of that with Eames had nothing to do with work.

This was entirely different, though.

“We get shot at in there! I don’t want to associate sex with dying. Or killing. Or running. Or stealing.”

“So use one of our ‘scapes.”

The dreams that they had shared, they had created together almost whimsically. Impossible, ridiculous structures, worlds of “what-ifs” that had no purpose other than as a place to hide away and revel in pure creation. Exploring one of those worlds, to envelop himself in Eames while surrendering his body entirely…

Arthur licked his lips. They were a bit dry. In fact, his entire mouth was dry. “Testing only takes a minute or two,” he said.

“Dosages can be changed.”

“But we don’t have very much, and longer sessions mean it won’t last…”

“Arthur.” The look leveled at him could only be described as a mixture between disappointed and amused. “When do you hold back a shot because you’re low on bullets?”

“When I’m not sure of the shot, or think it’s not worth it,” he answered automatically, then winced. “Not that this wouldn’t be worth it. I’m just saying, your analogy is flawed.”

“Well, then. When have we ever not fucked because we only had a few condoms left?”

They didn’t use condoms, actually, and hadn’t in a while, but Arthur admitted that he had a point. More Somnacin could always be acquired. 

“But I won’t actually be asleep!” Arthur protested finally, a last-ditch effort to gain control of the situation. “It’s not sleep, it’s a… a chemically-induced state of lucid introspection, which involves both the conscious and subconscious mind while maintaining a finite connection to the unconscious body!”

Eames sniffed. “Sounds like sleep to me.” Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Eames merely looked at him, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back in the armchair with the heavens pouring down behind him. “Baby steps,” Eames said, and went back to his reading. “Do let me know when you need to test it again, mm love?”

So fucking poised. Arthur gritted his teeth and stood up, his quiet day in the apartment irrevocably disturbed. He was already in the kitchen before he realized the book was still in his hand, so he stalked back and dropped it onto the coffee table. Eames didn’t look up at the dull thud. Arthur wandered away again, this time to the office, and opened the wood-paneled door that hid the black safe, within which was hidden the PASIV.

He opened his mouth, ready to yell another argument into the other room, but stopped. What was he doing? All he had to do was say that he didn’t want to, and Eames would drop it. So why develop arguments that he knew Eames could counter?

So Arthur thought. He thought about the PASIV, and the dreamscape. Of worlds that he had created with Eames at his side, that were purely for the two of them. He imagined his mind exploring those worlds, knowing that the two of them were more entwined than if Eames were walking beside him.

He thought of Eames standing over him as he lay on their bed, hooked up to the PASIV. How those broad, nimble hands could run over him, touch him everywhere, his body unresponsive while his mind was elsewhere entirely.

He could see himself; facedown, one arm flung wide and connected to the device. Eames over him, around him, _inside _him, just… taking. Taking his pleasure because Arthur wasn’t there, not really. He’d gone out, and Eames was pillaging the place. Taking what he could and going back for more, always more.__

__Phantom touches surrounded him, and he became aware of arousal surging just under his skin. It tickled, like a buzz from a good bottle of wine. He didn’t realize how ragged his breaths were until he reached to loosen a tie he wasn’t wearing._ _

__“Eames,” he said, and to his ears it sounded far away. “Eames!” He didn’t hear the reply as he walked heavily back down the hallway, hands stretched out to his sides because he wasn’t sure he could stay upright. Eames had put away the newspaper, and was just sitting there. Waiting. As if he knew._ _

__“I think I need to test the PASIV,” Arthur told him, and Eames smiled._ _


	3. Implementation

The dream was, as Eames had suggested, one of their own creation. Its basis was an imagined memory of a Scottish glen, a network of river valleys surrounded by hills. Arthur found himself beside a creek, standing in calf-high grass while the water burbled over and around its rocky bed. The ground was springy but dry beneath the tall grass, and hummocky with overgrown rocks. To either side were rising hills, some taller than others, rolling soft curves interspersed with a few ragged cliffs. Around one curve of the river, down-valley from him, was a stand of trees. Arthur was pretty sure they were pines, slightly stunted but still rising far into the sky. Everything was green, so green.

It was one of the simplest dreamscapes he’d ever made. The valley was straightforward, no maze. There wasn’t a building in sight, nothing for his mind to populate with projections. He was alone in his own consciousness, and what even was the purpose?

Clouds roiled overhead and Arthur made himself take several deep breaths. Eames. He was here with Eames, no matter that he couldn’t see the other man. 

Eames had sat beneath that tree there, reading poetry to him. Arthur had dozed in that wonderful way that made minutes seem like hours that he wanted to turn into years

Arthur had agonized over the placement of the boulder in that field, wondering whether it was realistic. Eames had laughed, told him to put the sodding boulder down, and then climbed to the top because he could never resist getting to higher ground. 

They had climbed around the base of that cliff, and Eames had pulled him into a niche in the rocks, pressed him back into it and sealed the gap with his own body and kissed him fiercely, hiding him from the world and from the rest of his mind, as if he wanted this Arthur to exist only for him.

This place was theirs.

Arthur remembered the moment before he slept, just moments earlier, lying down on the bed with Eames looming over him. His face had felt tight, rigid, but Eames had smoothed a hand over his forehead and cheek, and kissed him hungrily. Arthur had inserted the needle, and Eames’ gaze never left his face as he pushed down the plunger on the PASIV. “Sleep, darling,” he’d said, his voice low and smooth.

Arthur pressed fingers to his lips, still feeling the phantom kiss.

As he relaxed, the clouds overhead slowed and thinned, losing their grey cast and becoming lighter. Blue sky peeked through, so vibrant he couldn’t imagine the color actually existing in the waking world.

Choosing randomly to go downstream, Arthur shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and started walking along the edge of the water, stepping from stone to stone. He refused to keep track of time. He knew Eames was watching over him, caressing him or prepping him or god only knows what, but he didn’t know how any of it would translate to the dream. It wasn’t something he’d considered before. There were conditions from the waking world that made their way into the dreamscape, but they were usually environmental. A feeling of motion, an ambient temperature. How much came through depended on the mixture of chemicals. There were combinations that dulled exterior senses, usually used along with sedatives in order to stabilize the dream for multiple layers. There were also chemicals that heightened awareness of physical stimuli, ensuring a trigger-fast ability to leave the dream should conditions topside change. Arthur had used many different mixtures before, but the one he was using now was a fairly standard base compound, a mild sedative along with the chemical that linked his mind to the device.

It was an odd sort of mind-body separation, one that Arthur rarely had to contemplate while working. Up top, he knew that Eames was aroused, that his body was the source of that arousal. The things Eames was likely doing to him were probably making his body respond. And yet here, Arthur felt… well. Detached. Like whatever was happening wasn’t happening to _him_.

Arthur shivered. It was a delicious thought, that Eames had complete control over him right now. He wished he had a window to the waking world, to see, to know how Eames was plundering his body. He almost couldn’t wait to wake up, to find out what he’d missed. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let it happen, so Arthur tried to keep his breathing rate and pulse down as he made his way downstream.

He slipped while stepping from one rock to another, and splashed a foot into the water. His startled curse sounded odd to his ears, an interruption into this serene landscape. Trying to regain his footing only exacerbated the situation, as his shoes flooded with river water and his pants got soaked to the knee. He eventually made it to the edge of the stream, muttering about clumsiness and watching his damn footing on wet rocks and…

Wet rocks.

Arthur frowned and stepped out onto the bank, looking back the way he had come. The dry, reddish rocks he’d used as stepping stones were now dark and slick with growth. His shoes sank into the earth on the side of the river, creating muddy pools in the footprints he left behind. The water was warm, but at the cling of sodden cloth around his feet, he shuddered and kicked off both shoes and socks. The spongy moss massaged the bottoms of his feet and mud squelched up between his toes, which he wiggled in guilty pleasure. Feeling like he might as well go completely bohemian, he rolled up his soggy pant legs to just below the knee.

Bemused at the changed stream, Arthur left his shoes where they were and continued on towards the trees. They seemed closer now, and bushier. Denser. The heavy cold dampness that had filled the air from the start changed, heating up and became more cloying, pushing in on him and causing a light film of sweat to bead on his exposed neck. The sky was no longer clear, instead shrouded in an increasingly heavy cloud clover, but the sun started beating down more effectively than it should for Scotland’s high latitude.

He left his heavy jacket on the edge of the forest, where there was a wave of expanding heat and humidity. His shirt immediately clung to his skin, and he undid the top two buttons in an attempt to get some cooling breeze. The trees no longer looked like any temperate forest Arthur had ever seen. Instead of needles, the trees had large green leaves, fanning out and dripping with moisture. The moss beneath his feet was still spongy, but a darker green that spoke of rich soil full of nutrients and biodegrading earth. It didn’t just covered the ground, but crept up over massive root structures and scaled the trunks to the very canopy of the forest.

Electricity crackled the air, and Arthur took one more look around the changed landscape. There, high over the hills, a dark cloud lit up with concealed lightning. The thunderhead built quickly, increasing with each gasping pull of Arthur’s lungs. The lightning increased with it, getting stronger as the anvil shape of the cumulonimbus developed and rushed across the valley towards him. Every time the sky brightened, Arthur jumped in surprise, his body tingling. Taking in a shaky breath of humid air, he turned his back on the unnatural weather and dove into the forest.

It didn’t take long to realize that he felt the lightning without being able to see it. At first he thought it was a recurrence of his childhood twitch reflex, the flash surprising him into physical movement. But deep in the woods, surrounded by dark greens and browns and covered by a thick canopy of leaves and ferns and lichen, the shocks continued. They didn’t come from his head down, nor from his extremities inward. Instead, they seemed to originate from within him, just below the pit of his stomach…

Sweet Jesus. Arthur gaped, and cast an instinctual glance around for any bystanders, when his cock started to fill and rise in understanding. He’d never been that sensitive before. Eames must be absolutely ramming his prostate, finding that angle that Arthur usually nudged him out of, citing discomfort at the mingled pleasure-pain. He’d never known it could feel like _this_ , like sparks flying from his center out to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

A low noise echoed dully through the woods, an inadvertent moan that Arthur quickly shut off. He moved a hand to adjust himself through his trousers, and tried to resist the urge to rock his hips forward, to rub himself in time with the shocks that ran through him.

It wasn’t right, feeling like this while fully dressed, while standing in a dream, at the complete mercy of another man. It shouldn’t be right. He needed… he wasn’t… he couldn’t believe how close together his legs were, that he couldn’t feel the stretch of Eames within him, the cool slickness of lube between his cheeks. He rubbed himself harder, panting slightly, imagining how it’d feel to kneel right there in the moss, put his head down on the soft, damp ground, pull his trousers around his thighs, and stick two fingers in himself to see if prostate stimulation _here_ could build on the stimulation bleeding over from topside. How it’d feel to arch his back and spill onto the forest floor, adding to the rich, lush ecosystem of his aroused mind.

Arthur pulled his hand away with difficulty, and his hips thrust gently against the air before he told himself to stand still. He drew in a breath that tasted of green earth and arousal, and breathed out self-control.

A drum beat in the distance, and Arthur was suddenly aware of his surroundings again. The forest had become even denser, with long vines hanging down into the space between trees. One tendril, moving independent from the gentle swaying of all the others, was obviously something different. He took a step forward, glad that although his prostate was continuing to be stimulated, he still moved with his normal coordination, then stopped a meter away and laughed at his own Freudian mind. A snake. Writhing around, dangling by its tail, sinuous and graceful. It swung towards him slightly, likely attracted by the odor of sweat and arousal that was exuding from his pores. He ducked around it and continued into the forest, keeping an eye overhead for any more onlookers.

Something flicked at the edge of his vision and he turned, searching the greens that surrounded him for the object that – _there_. A shot of movement, something fluid and pale compared to the rich deep greens and browns of this place. It slinked behind a tree and then darted away on the other side and Arthur froze, ducking behind a large buttress and wondering who the _hell_ could possibly be in this dream with him. For that had been a man, sure as anything. A man bare as the day he was born, barring a scant fold of cloth around his hips and a goddamn spear in his hand.

That wasn’t a euphemism, much as Arthur thought of taking his own spear in hand.

No, the man had an honest-to-god six foot spear, with a sharpened point at one end.

Two more warriors ran past where he hid. Women, this time, covered by loincloths and wielding spears. Slinking, bounding, running through the forest. Their footfalls sounded like thunder, a solid accompaniment to the lightning still shooting through him unseen. A keening filled the air, low and wavering a little, and at first Arthur thought it was the people around him, but no, their mouths were all closed and the sound actually _came_ from the air, came from his mind, and when he reached a hand up to his throat, he realized that it was sore without him making a sound.

There were more people around him now, running in a flood all towards the same direction, all carrying spears. One headed for Arthur’s tree root, and before Arthur could decide whether he was a threat or not, he was bounding up and over Arthur’s hiding spot and another was following in his path.

A few more passed, and the keening got unbearably eerie, a wrecked sound that Arthur writhed to think of being pulled from his sleeping throat. He could hardly breath, pulling heavy humid air in, once, twice, until suddenly it was too much for him, it was all too much.

He was up and running without another thought, still unable to catch his breath but legs pumping despite that. Two strides in he realized his clothes had disappeared and he was dressed as everyone else in the dream, a loose fold of cloth around his waist hiding the tight roll of it that ran down between his legs and up his backside. With every step it wedged in tighter, creating a delicious chafe that made him lengthen his stride until he was bounding through the forest, effortless steps taking him impossible distances. The chafe lead to an ache within which he realized abruptly had nothing to do with the dream, and had everything to do with Eames. Eames, who was in him, thrusting, and Arthur couldn’t feel it but he _could_ , with every drag against his prostate sending lightning through his very being.

People crushed around him and the sound of wailing thunder filled the air. Sharp pinpricks cut into the fronts of his hips and he faltered for the first time, not knowing whether the pain had come from one of his running partners or a passing plant or something else entirely. He stumbled briefly and picked his feet up only to stagger again when the earth fell unevenly beneath him. He refused to fall, and his heart beat hard in his chest and his legs felt as if they had never worked so hard in his life, but he continued forward.

His neighbors pressed in close around him, jostling him and covering him in the scent of hot human sweat and clean musk, smells that meant to him _Eames_ , and Arthur breathed it in to lungs that ached, like if he could just get enough then everything would be perfect.

The forest was opening up around him, curving away like a giant blossom and in its place was sunlight, so bright, a counterpart to the dark electricity that still ran through him, within him. Water splashed his shins as he ran two steps in a stream. The sun came closer, so close, surrounding everything. Its glow flooded him, every crack in his mind let it in and the shadows fled, leaving only a heat that cradled him from the inside out. He looked down just in time to see the earth fall away, air opening below him and far beyond that, the pool of a waterfall, bubbling and foaming and the mist shining like little droplets of powdered diamonds and gold and flecks of silver, and then the sunlight overcame everything, everything he knew or could possibly imagine, and there was nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Woop woop, I don't think I'm gonna finish this. Sorry for the tease :/
> 
> Working title for this was "Self-indulgement." Now you know a bit too much about me.  
> Unbeta'd, so let me know of typos or anything. Comments and concrit welcome.
> 
> Tumblr: [motionalocean](http://motionalocean.tumblr.com/). Not that I really do much on there except waste hours and hours and hours of my life.


End file.
